Healer in Training
by spittingllama7856
Summary: Harry wakes up in the Hospital Wing, sure that he was run over by the Knight Bus, because what else could cause someone's entire body to ache the way his did? Harry didn't think that Malfoy, Healer in training, would be the one to take care of him. Harry doesn't want Malfoy to leave his side, though, for some unknowable reason. Slash, post-war, AU, Healer!Draco, 8th Year


**The Houses Competition information**

 _House: Hufflepuff_

 _Category: Short story_

 _Prompt: [Prompt] A random act of kindness_

 _Word count: 1755_

 ** _Romance challenge information_**

 _Day/Fic Number: 02_

 _Representation: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy_

 _Warnings: Hogwarts Eighth Year; not-epilogue compliant; Healer in training; alternate universe; slash pairing_

 _A/N: I tried to make the act of kindness subtle. Draco isn't really one to just go out of his way to do things for people, despite the War changing him and his being a Healer. Technically, Healer in training. I hope it isn't too hard to spot._

Harry was sure that someone had run him over with the Knight Bus. Multiple times. He didn't know that it was physically possible to feel like he had been hit by a bus, but apparently it was. Mind you, he'd never actually been run over, but this, Harry thought groggily, was what it must feel like.

Everything ached. His skin felt stiff and pulled tight over his muscles and bones. His legs were alternating between feeling immovably numb, to hot and spastic. The worst part was that he couldn't exactly recall how he got himself into that state.

Harry forced his eyes open—a slow, slight painful process—and, as he expected, was met with the white ceiling of the hospital wing. He thought it was nighttime, though he wasn't sure.

He tried to remember how he got there, but everything was just a fuzzy haze in his memory, so he mostly drew a blank. He vaguely remembered flying, and—Harry groaned. He'd gone out to fly by himself, the only time he'd done so since he'd gone back to Hogwarts after the War, and he fell off his broom. Of course.

That brought up a few questions, once he'd pushed aside his bruised ego at the fact that he'd _fallen off his broom_. What was the extent of his injuries, and who had found him? It was likely Ron or Hermione, but it could've been any number of his adoring fans at that point. He'd practically been followed by every girl in school for months before he'd gotten them to stop, but it was completely likely they'd taken to stalking him again.

Despite being grateful to whoever got him back to the infirmary, Harry didn't think he'd be able to thank a blushing, giggling fangirl and keep a straight face. They tended to do. . . odd things when he talked to them like normal human beings.

Harry had gotten pretty good at ignoring pain in the seventeen years he'd been subjected to it. His muscles burned when he tried to move and his head was pounding. A dull ache pulsed near his ribs. Which ones, Harry couldn't tell, because the ache didn't discriminate and encompassed the entire left side of his ribcage.

He pushed himself up on shaky forearms, wincing and gasping at the stabbing in his lower back. Madam Pomfrey probably would've screeched if she saw him doing it. Harry didn't disregard his health (as much as he used to, at least) but he just couldn't stay still, even when he probably should've laid down and went back to sleep, so he meant no disrespect to her opinions.

He'd known her long enough to realize what she'd say if she came in and saw him attempting to sit up.

His tongue felt heavy and dry in his mouth when he tried to call out for Madam Pomfrey. He was only stubborn, not stupid, and wanted to know what his injuries were-not only that they hurt like hell, because that wasn't very helpful or informative.

Harry had only been able to croak out "Madam—" before someone Harry probably should've expected to see came into his view, startling him into silence.

Harry hadn't been to the infirmary very often since his eighth year had started, which was a good thing. He'd only visited once, and that had been to pick up a Pepper-Up potion for himself and Ginny. Malfoy had been in the Hospital Wing at the time, helping Madam Pomfrey with one of the younger students who had broken her arm.

Harry had, as always, been skeptical of Malfoy's presence, but the blond had been gentle and kind to the girl. He'd wiped away her tears, and made her blush and smile at something he'd said. It had amazed Harry at the time.

It hadn't occurred to Harry until much later that Malfoy was studying medicine under Madam Pomfrey. Harry knew that during the War, Malfoy had had a lot of experience healing people who'd been tortured in Malfoy Manor. That had been one of the things that helped convince the jury at Malfoy's trial that he didn't deserve to be thrown in prison; his surprising sense of empathy.

As Harry remembered the last time he'd seen Malfoy—which had been an admittedly long time ago, because Malfoy didn't seem to leave the Hospital Wing—the blond walked up to Harry's side and fixed him with a stern stare.

"Mister Potter, you should be resting. Your ribs were shattered upon impact with the ground, and you've broken your left leg. You also have a concussion, which we are healing but it's a slow process," Malfoy said in a very proper and impersonal tone that Harry wasn't used to.

Harry stared, and then, for the fun of it, stared some more.

 _Mister Potter? Shattered? Broken leg? Why the fuck can't I just take a pain potion, then,_ Harry wondered.

Harry opened his mouth to try and ask Malfoy those questions when the young healer-in-training brought a glass of water to his lips. Harry hadn't seen him grab it or anything.

He decided that water was more important than his questions at the moment and drank eagerly, leaving his mouth feeling much more comfortable. A pale, warm hand tilted Harry's chin up slightly, making him splutter in surprise. Even more surprising, Malfoy wiped away the water Harry had coughed out.

"There," Malfoy murmured gently.

Harry felt his cheeks flush for an unknown reason. Malfoy set the glass down on Harry's bedside table before turning back to him.

"Now, do I have to force you on your back or can you do that yourself?" Malfoy asked, hands on his hips.

Harry gulped. He didn't move.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and he put his hands on Harry's shoulders, gently pushing Harry back down onto the pillows. His hands seemed to burn, leaving Harry's skin tingling with the feeling. It was a good distraction from the stabbing in his lower back and the aching of his forearms.

Was it just the lighting or had Malfoy's expression softened?

" _Don't move_ ," Malfoy demanded.

Harry hadn't seen Malfoy grab his wand, but he flicked it and a line of potions floated up behind the blond.

"I'm going to give you a pain reliever, but because your body is trying to heal itself right now, I won't give you more than one. Your body can't recover and digest the myriad of potions that might have helped you otherwise. We'll have to wait for those until you are healed enough to walk on your own," Malfoy explained as he uncorked a small vial.

That was more of an explanation of why Harry couldn't take many potions when he was hurt than he'd ever gotten from Madam Pomfrey or Hermione.

 _Huh,_ Harry thought.

Malfoy helped him swallow the pain reliever, and he felt like his limbs had all relaced and cooled. It was working well. Harry hoped it lasted for a long time.

"Malfoy—"

"Healer Malfoy," Malfoy cut in gently.

"Healer Malfoy, where are my friends? Do they know I'm here?" Harry asked, and he could've sworn the blond flinched minutely.

"Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley are, I imagine, in the Great Hall now. It's dinnertime," _Healer_ Malfoy said.

Harry nodded, the pounding in his head lessened by the potion. Malfoy moved to turn away, but Harry didn't want to sit alone for the entire night. That was the only explanation he could give for asking Malfoy to stay.

"M-Healer Malfoy, please don't go," Harry said softly.

For a moment, Harry thought Malfoy hadn't heard him, but the way the other boy froze told him that he had.

What seemed like an eternity later, Malfoy slowly turned to Harry. He had a weary expression Harry had never seen on his face before. He looked so young in that moment, younger than Harry had seen in years.

"Of course," Malfoy said softly.

He gracefully pulled a chair next to Harry's bed and sat down. It was an act of kindness and understanding that Harry hadn't expected from the blond. He'd expected a biting comment about Harry being an invalid, or something similar. Perhaps a scathing remark about his blood status or the scar on his forehead.

But Malfoy leaned forward, chin resting on his hand, and peered thoughtfully at Harry. The weary expression had disappeared.

"What do you want to do? I can't imagine that you'd want to sleep, knowing you," Malfoy said.

Harry felt a grin slowly spread on his face. It felt weird because his skin still felt puffy, but he supposed it didn't matter.

"Chess?" Harry asked.

A spark lit up in Malfoy's eyes. It was something Harry hadn't seen since they were at each other's throats when they were fifteen. Harry used to hate the challenging gleam in Malfoy's eyes, but now he found that he was excited.

Malfoy had changed since the War, that much was for sure, and Harry had changed too. They weren't enemies anymore-though not exactly friends either. They had a lot to sort through, from years of anger towards each other, but that could be handled later.

Now, Harry just wanted to play a game of chess with someone who never worshiped the ground he walked on, or treaded so carefully around him sometimes that Harry lost his temper.

Of course, Harry lost spectacularly. He was never good at chess; that had always been Ron's forte. In the end, though, Harry didn't think it mattered. The way Malfoy's face had lit up, and the way he bit his lip in thought, that was worth it.

Patients weren't supposed to date their Healers, Harry knew. But he had weeks to spend in the infirmary—Malfoy's orders—with his friends bringing his homework and chess with Malfoy. How could he _not_ fall for the blond boy's sharp tongue and almost fond way of teasing?

Maybe Malfoy fell for him, too. Harry didn't think it was possible for Malfoy to blush, but he did. Harry made him blush, and laugh. Sometimes Malfoy would brush the fringe out of his eyes when he thought Harry was asleep. Healers didn't generally do that, did they?

There had to be something more there, or Harry was going to feel really embarrassed. It was two and a half weeks into his stay in the Hospital Wing when Harry kissed Malfoy. It was awkward, and a slightly painful angle, and his lips were dry.

But Malfoy _kissed him back._ That did more for Harry than any potion the Healer in training could offer.


End file.
